


your eyes, like starlight

by andchaos



Series: girls like girls [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Fem!Mickey, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderbend, Rule 63, fem!ian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 11:08:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5494940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andchaos/pseuds/andchaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Tell me what my surprise is,” Mickey demanded.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Ian laughed. “Is that the only thing you can think about? I just fucked you speechless and the first thing you say when you remember how to even talk is to ask me to spoil Christmas. Not ‘thank you for that magnificent orgasm’ or even ‘wow, Ian, you’re a sex goddess.’ This is unbelievable. You…you’re a fucking Grinch.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Sweet girlfriends celebrate Christmas!</p>
            </blockquote>





	your eyes, like starlight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foxesnotopossums](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxesnotopossums/gifts).



> title is from baby it's cold outside but dear god, please don't get into that debate now. this is just to fill that void of fem!ixm and of christmas fluff xoxox

          Mickey rolled over and buried her face in Ian’s neck. Ian’s knees were digging painfully into her legs but she didn’t care, too busy slowing her breaths to Ian’s and getting wrapped up in the scent of her, which was so potent in her throat and the hair around them both like a thick, frizzy cloud. Mickey shut her eyes again, desperate not to wake up just yet.

          Just as she thought she could safely rejoin Ian in sleep, however, she felt a hand slide slow and soothing through her hair. Mickey sighed, and opened her eyes.

          “I knew you were up.”

          Ian’s voice was lilting—teasing and affectionate at the same time. Mickey breathed in and out one more time before propping her chin on Ian’s chest, looking up at her.

          “I wish I wasn’t,” she grumbled out eventually.

          Ian’s laugh sounded so smooth and unbothered; Mickey couldn’t imagine how anyone could be so cheerful when it was so _early_ , before there was any chance to harden against the world’s unpleasantries.

          Ian stroked her hair some more. Mickey thought that maybe, okay—there was one good thing about waking up.

          “Pass me my shirt,” Mickey said at length.

          She kept her eyes closed even as she felt Ian shifting and craning around her.

          “Which shirt?” Ian asked. “The tank or the long sleeves?”

          “Long sleeves are yours,” Mickey grumbled. “Come on, come on. Tank top, I’m in yoga pants and Mandy keeps cranking the fucking heat up.”

          Ian had to roll Mickey off of her to get the requested clothing, and once she was dislodged from her comfortable position, Mickey decided she might as well just sit up anyway. She rubbed blearily at her eyes, no doubt smearing yesterday’s eyeliner that she hadn’t washed off, and tugged on the shirt that Ian passed her while Ian pulled on a pair of sweatpants that could have belonged to either of them.

          Mickey stumbled out into the kitchen while Ian was still getting dressed, but Ian was right behind her, her hands fumbling in the cabinet while Mickey’s messed with the coffee pot, trying to wrestle it from its falling-apart holder. They spoke mainly in gestures and eye contact while they shambled together breakfast for one another, a conglomeration of whatever the Milkoviches had in the fridge—although with Terry in jail, no one was around to boss the kids into going grocery shopping, and their selection was meager at best.

          Mickey slid into a chair at the table, chewing on her half of the last poptart, big eyes watchful as Ian sat down across from her and poked at her tiny pile of scrambled eggs. Once she was settled, her lifted her eyes to Mickey’s and smiled softly around her bite of eggs. Beneath the table, she hooked and tangled her ankles with Mickey’s. Mickey cocked an eyebrow at her.

          “Morning,” Ian said cheerfully.

          Mickey glanced down. “We woke up together, asshole.”

          Ian’s grin didn’t falter as Mickey stared across at her, unimpressed and unmoved.

          “That’s what makes the morning good,” Ian said. Her ankle rocked back and forth minutely, just once, and somehow she made that simple motion of their legs brushing both teasing and affectionate.

          Mickey’s brow arched even further up her forehead.

          “What’s got you so chipper, huh?” She squinted at Ian then, suspicious. “Yesterday I practically had to drag you out of bed by your ankles to get your sorry ass to work, and today you’re smiling like you’re suddenly a morning person.”

          Ian pouted. “I _am_ a morning person.”

          “No, you’re a night person that likes to pretend she’s a morning person—but when actually faced with the morning, suddenly it’s, ‘ _Mickey, so help me god—_ ’ and ‘ _Mickey, if you really love me—_ ’ and ’ _Mickey, let’s stay in bed and fuck all day, that counts as the doctor’s recommended daily exercise._ ’ Huh? Huh?”

          Ian flipped her hair over her shoulder with a scoff and a massive eye roll. “Don’t be dramatic.”

          Mickey crossed her arms and leaned back, inadvertently dragging her ankles away from Ian’s. She didn’t say anything, just stared disbelievingly at her girlfriend until Ian rolled her eyes again and went back to eating, with Mickey immediately following suit.

          “So?” Mickey asked after a few beats of silence. “Are you gonna tell me what’s up with you? Or are you gonna mess me around all day?”

          Ian smiled gently. Mickey felt her kicking her feet beneath the table, catching her shins on every few passes, and Mickey leaned forwards and stretched her legs to entangle them again. For a few swings, Ian rocked their feet together, but eventually she slowed and stopped.

          “It’s two days before Christmas,” she said at length. “Christmas Eve Eve.”

          Mickey stared at her, taking a deliberate bite of her poptart. “And?”

          Ian smiled goofily at her. “I thought we could do something special. For Christmas, I mean.”

          “Do something special?”

          “I may already have something planned,” Ian admitted.

          Mickey’s smile, in return, was far more sharp and wicked. “I thought you gave me that _something special_ last night.”

          Ian snorted. “That was lame,” she accused, flicking some scrambled egg at Mickey’s head.

          “You love me,” Mickey scoffed.

          They played this game a lot: one of them said _you love me_ , and the other said _do not_ , and then _do too_ , and _do not_ —until they went back and forth and back until they dissolved into laughter, sometimes ending up in a playful wrestling match or a less-than-playful match in their bed.

          This time, however, Ian stood abruptly, and she bent over the table to grip Mickey’s chin and plant a soft, delicate kiss on her lips. Very quickly, it transformed into a firmer kiss, and then Mickey’s mouth fell open and she pressed up towards Ian’s heat and in almost the same second, Ian pulled away from her completely.

          Ian looked smug as she sat back down, tossing her hair away from her mouth and returning to her food. Mickey sat staring after her for a moment, paralyzed. Then slowly, as she regained use of her faculties, she joined Ian in eating again.

          Ian grinned across at her, silly and pleased. She agreed, “I love you.”

 

\- - -

 

 

          Mickey curled her fingers around the headboard as Ian curled hers around Mickey’s thighs.

          “Is this the something special?” Mickey panted.

          Ian slid her hands up to Mickey’s hips and tugged, forcing her to sit back even further. Unfortunately for Mickey’s curiosity, but quite fortunately for Mickey in general, this effectively stymied Ian’s response as her mouth was momentarily occupied.

          “It’s Christmas Eve,” Mickey went on, undeterred. She was panting a little, and sweat was starting to build up on her face, making stray hairs stick to her forehead. “Are you…making me wait? Is this some weird buildup to…make the surprise even better?”

          Ian pulled away from her, pressing herself into the bed. She chuckled, then licked away a bead of sweat that was trailing down Mickey’s thigh. She teased lowly, “Since when do I ever make you wait?”

          “Making me wait right now,” Mickey panted.

          “Only because you won’t shut up.” Ian bit into the soft skin of her inner thigh. “Is this a weird buildup or a good one?”

          Mickey had already lost the thread of their analogy. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she admitted. “Hard to fucking think with your tongue on me.”

          Ian giggled. “Is it easier with my tongue _in_ you?” she asked, and before Mickey could answer, she tilted her face up and got back to it. Her tongue curled inside Mickey for a moment, brief but firm.

          “Even worse like that,” Mickey groaned. Ian’s nails dug into her thighs as Mickey’s hips rocked back, trying desperately to ride her mouth. “God, god. Do that again.”

          Ian did, and Mickey’s back arched as she chased the feeling, chanting Ian’s name like a prayer. Ian’s fingers feathered upwards and curled into her hips, keeping her tugged tightly down on her while she licked and sucked and made Mickey cry out, made her moan. When she came, Ian was unrelenting, lapping ceaselessly at her and sucking hard on her clit while Mickey rocked her hips over and over again, chasing her orgasm through to the end.

          When she was spent, she collapsed gracelessly on the bed beside Ian.

          “God,” she breathed, loquaciously.

          Ian chuckled and wiped her sleeve across her chin, then flung her arm out over Mickey’s bare chest. Mickey knew what she was seeking and turned onto her side, letting Ian snake her arm around her back as Mickey plastered herself to her side. She pressed her fingers beneath the very bottom of Ian’s shirt, tracing them lightly across the ridges of her hips.

          “Tell me what my surprise is,” Mickey demanded.

          Ian laughed. “Is that the only thing you can think about? I just fucked you speechless and the first thing you say when you remember how to even _talk_ is to ask me to spoil Christmas. Not ‘ _thank you for that magnificent orgasm_ ’ or even ‘ _wow, Ian, you’re a sex goddess_.’ This is unbelievable. You…you’re a fucking Grinch.”

          Mickey let out a startled laugh, slapping lightly at Ian’s stomach before going back to tracing nonsensical patterns along her waistline. After a minute she tilted her face up to look at Ian’s.

          “Tell me,” she insisted.

          Ian tangled her fingers in Mickey’s hair and tugged playfully. “Just wait a day like a normal person.”

          Mickey sneered magnificently. “You’re impossible,” she spat.

          Ian just rolled her eyes; she was clearly thinking the exact same thing. Mickey scoffed and went back to watching her fingers on Ian’s skin.

          “What are your plans for tomorrow?” Ian asked at length.

          Mickey shrugged as best as she could from her position. “I may have made us dinner reservations,” she said, glad her face was tilted away from Ian’s and that the light wasn’t on, so she couldn’t see the blush now dusting her cheeks.

          “Oh?” Ian sounded intrigued; Mickey could tell even from that one little noise.

          “Yeah.” She bit her lip, considering. Then, reddening still further and sure Ian could feel it where Mickey’s cheek nudged her exposed collar, she added, “Wear that blue skirt you have, maybe?”

          “The blue skirt?” Ian repeated.

          Mickey could practically feel the smile curling her lips now. Ian shifted, dropping her hand to Mickey’s thigh and dragging it over her hips. Mickey went with her, allowing it, sliding more and more until she was completely straddling Ian’s waist. Mickey sat up a little, and Ian grinned, trailing her gaze over Mickey. Her hands started to slowly stroke up and down Mickey’s thighs.

          “You know,” Ian said slowly, almost demurely except that Ian had no real propensity to be anything but loud and mildly awkward, “that’s a really, _really_ nice skirt. Are we going somewhere fancy?”

          “It’s nice,” Mickey conceded. She bit her lip again, some of her hair falling into her face as she ducked her head. She glanced up at Ian again. “Maybe you still have that white crop top you wore to Iggy’s birthday?”

          “I have it,” Ian confirmed. Her hands were relentless on Mickey’s thighs now, and Mickey fought the urge to give in and kiss her. She pressed her ass down harder on Ian, where she was wearing only her panties. “Why? Do you like it?”

          “Maybe.” Mickey drew the word out, full on grinning now as she looked at Ian, as she approached more even ground. “I think you like it better than me though.”

          Ian seemed amused. “Do I?” Her hands shifted, slid around to squeeze Mickey’s ass. “And why’s that?”

          “Come on,” Mickey scoffed. “You know I can’t resist you in that shirt. Last time you wore it we ended up making out for like, two hours. I was groping you the whole entire time.”

          “So?”

          “ _So_ ,” Mickey said. She was already sliding, out of Ian’s grasp, pushing up at her shirt as she went until Ian finally took it off right as Mickey settled between her legs. “There’s pretty much nothing you like better than me feeling you up.”

          “I can—can think of a few things,” Ian said. Her smooth confidence was starting to shake as Mickey trailed her mouth along the insides of her thighs. The touch of her lips was light, fleeting—just a tease so far.

          “Can you?” Mickey asked, feigning amused indifference. She pressed her lips harder against a spot near where her legs curved into her hips. She could already see that Ian was wet, even though she hadn’t tugged off her underwear yet.

          “One or two,” Ian amended.

          “Hmm.” Mickey paused, then dragged her lips directly across where Ian was dampening her panties more and more, the touch hard and promising. Ian gave a breathy sigh, loud, her back arching slightly. “I bet I can make you cum more times than you can make me tonight.”

          “You’re on, you’re so on.”

          Mickey gave her a brief, wicked grin before tugging her underwear down her legs and getting straight to it.

 

\- - -

 

          Christmas dawned for Mickey with all the grace and gentleness of a particularly irritated tiger. Possibly that was just Ian though, who jumped on her girlfriend as soon as first light hit and Mickey startled to consciousness after the bruises had already begun to form.

           “Ian?” she croaked out weakly.

          Ian grinned, her face obscuring nearly everything else in Mickey’s vision. She leaned down until her nose brushed Mickey’s, not quite nuzzling, but nearly enough that Mickey huffed and allowed her to continue sitting on top of her.

          “Merry Christmas,” Ian said, her smile blinding.

          Mickey grumbled something back that was more like “Mer Christm” than anything coherent. Ian just laughed sunnily. Mickey cracked her eyes open.

          “What are you doing up so early?” she asked, her hands instinctively finding Ian and sliding up her back, then back down, and again. “We were up until five in the fucking morning. It’s been…” Mickey struggled to check the clock on their bedside table, “Two hours. That’s not enough hours.”

          “It’s Christmas,” Ian said, tapping the end of Mickey’s nose. “I love Christmas.”

          “I love sleep,” Mickey offered.

          “Me too,” Ian conceded. “But not today.”

          Mickey grumbled and, reluctantly, got out of bed. She leaned heavily on Ian all throughout getting coffee and then drinking the eggnog that was shoved into her hands.

          “I’m surprised you’re not wearing one of those little santa hats with the fuckin’ fuzz balls and shit,” Mickey grumbled.

          Ian scrunched up her nose. “Don’t be disgusting.”

          Then the smile was back, and she grabbed Mickey’s free hand and dragged her over to the tree. They sat down together in front of the small, sparse tree they had set up the week before and had decorated with whatever decorations they could find around the house. Mickey had found and hole-punched a small picture of the pair of them, and it swayed back and forth in front of their eyes as they sat there. Mickey watched it for a moment until Ian started speaking again, drawing her attention.

          “We’ll do real presents when everyone else wakes up,” Ian said airily, “and then I have to go my family’s house anyway and do Christmas with them. But I wanted to do just you and me right now, before anyone else gets up.”

          Mickey arched an eyebrow, sharp and high on her forehead. “Is this the surprise?” she asked, stretching a hand out towards the box marked _MICKEY_ with a small heart beneath it. She shook it, but it made no noise.

          Ian, meanwhile, was nodding eagerly.

          Mickey jerked a chin at the box that had _Ian_ in the fanciest script she had been able to produce. “Do mine first.”

          “Don’t I always,” Ian scoffed, reaching for it. Mickey rolled her eyes.

          Ian tore into the wrapping paper with no regard for how carefully Mickey had placed her tape, even smoothing out all the uneven bits. She ducked her head a little as Ian got down to the small box itself, and she busied her hands with the coffee she had set aside and sipped minutely at it, watching Ian carefully nonetheless. Ian looked like she wished she had claws as she fought with the duct tape on the box and struggled to get it open, fighting viciously with it. Clearly ROTC training had nothing on duct tape.

          Finally, she managed to get it open. Ian wasted no time with marveling or considering; she plucked it out of the box and turned it over and over in her hands at once. Then she raised her eyes to Mickey’s.

          “You got me a camera?” she asked. Mickey bit her lip. “Like…holy shit, Mickey. This is a _really_ nice camera. Did you actually buy this?”

          Mickey shrugged, feeling fidgety. “So?”

          Ian put the camera back in the box, then placed the box back on the floor. Without saying anything, and without breaking eye contact with Mickey, she levered herself onto her hands and knees. She put Mickey’s coffee aside, too, and once everything was clear, she twisted her fist into Mickey’s sleep shirt and pulled her in for a slow, hot kiss. Mickey moaned into it, pressing forwards for more and gratified when, instead of pulling away, Ian untwisted her hand from her shirt and slid it back into her hair instead, keeping her tight against her. Mickey sucked on Ian’s lip, and a thrill shot through her when Ian licked into her mouth a moment later, pulling Mickey almost off the floor in her slow-burning fervor.

          “Mmf,” Mickey grunted as Ian suddenly released her and she fell back to her slump. “Fuck. I love you too.”

          Ian laughed a bright, beautiful laugh and resumed her seat with equal inelegance. She folded her hands into her lap and nodded eagerly, saying, “Go on, do yours now.”

          Mickey had barely picked up the slim little box when Ian cried out, “Wait!” and she picked up her new camera. Mickey rolled her eyes and sighed loudly, but nevertheless waited while Ian puttered around with it—even sat there while she ran into the kitchen for batteries—until Ian lifted it to her eye and pressed a button. The red light came on, signaling that it was recording.

          “Okay, go,” Ian said, sounding a little breathless.

          Mickey looked directly into the camera so it would capture her fond eye roll before she started stripping off the wrapping paper on her gift. She could feel Ian’s gaze, delighted and expectant, watching her keenly.

          She opened the box without fanfare, and was momentarily stumped by the smooth strip of paper inside. Beside her, she could feel Ian buzzing. Mickey lifted the paper out of the box and brought it closer to her face, examining it. Then, slowly, she lifted her gaze to Ian’s. Even the camera became background noise to the low hum that had started up in her ears.

          “These are hotel reservations,” Mickey deadpanned.

          Ian was flushed, though happily, and she nodded eagerly.

          “These are _hotel reservations_ ,” Mickey repeated disbelievingly. “To a _hotel_.”

          Ian was beaming. “Yep,” she confirmed.

          Mickey read over the information before her again.

          “Four days,” she read off. “Just outside of town.”

          Distantly, she noticed Ian putting down the camera—the red light was still blinking. She let the paper fall into her lap and turned to face her girlfriend, still stunned.

          “Four days,” Ian repeated with a nod. She had crawled closer to Mickey and was watching her as she went; Mickey brought her hands automatically to Ian’s hips as she moved into her lap. Ian brushed a strand of hair out of Mickey’s face. “Just you and me…in a hotel room…in the hotel _pool_ …”

          Mickey watched her mouth as it moved. She was speaking so low, and even though she wasn’t describing anything obscene, Mickey was drawn to how good she sounded, how she was running her hands all over her.

          “We can order room service,” Ian went on, “Lay in bed for an entire day. For all four days, if you want. There’s a little balcony.” She grinned then, and leaned down to touch her forehead to Mickey’s. “We could get up and drink mimosas and watch the sunrise.” Ian paused, pressed her lips to Mickey’s cheek. She kept them there while she added, lips dragging on Mickey’s skin, “We can be naked for _four straight days_ …think how many times I can make you cum _then_ …”

          Mickey laughed then, because Ian was a lot of things and while sexy _was_ one of them, Ian was definitely _not_ sexy in a pair of bright red fuzzy pajama bottoms and one of Mickey’s loose t-shirts. Ian didn’t seem offended though, just laughed with her as she leaned down to cover Mickey’s mouth with her own. Mickey just kissed her for a second, soft and sweet, and Ian ran her fingers through her hair.

          When they pulled apart, Mickey leaned her forehead against Ian’s again. Ian was smiling, just slightly, a small and beautiful smile.

          “Merry Christmas, Ian,” Mickey murmured.

          Ian laughed, brushing their noses together.

          “Merry Christmas,” she whispered back.

**Author's Note:**

> spec thanks to [lily](http://captainholt.tumblr.com/) for the camera idea :)
> 
> also, another shoutout to whatsthattoughguy for encouraging fem!ixm & doing this fic exchange with me :):)
> 
> find me on tumblr [here](http://bluenoahh.tumblr.com/post/135718966230) :))))))  
> xoxox


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